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The Path o' Dreams 



The Path o' Dreams 



Thomas S. Jones, Jr. 




Boston: Richard G. Badger 
1905 



Copyright 1904 by Thomas S. Jonbs, Jr. 
All rights reserved 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies fieceived 

DEC 19 1904 

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JUifC 2.0. /fCi^ 
CUSS CL XXc. Noi 

COPY B. * 






PRINTED AT 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

BOSTON, XT. 8. A. 



TO 
ROBERT TANSEY LAUGHLIN 



Contents 


The Piper . 






Page 

13 


Echo 






14 


At Dusk 






15 


To 






16 


Tears . 






17 


Reverie 






18 


The Gloaming Hour 






19 


Soul-Slumber . 






20 


Harvest 






21 


Constancy 






22 


My Silent Years . 






23 


Trdumerei 






24 


Indian Summer 






25 



Once 

The Empty Cup 

A Forest Dream 

A Song at Sunset 

Quatrain 

Lifers Paradox 

Forgotten 

Drifts , 

Withal . 

Noel . 

Solitude 

Illusion 

Legende 

Quatrain 

Berceuse 



^ 7 P^8^« 

Daphne ' - - - » 42 

Two Chords . . . . , ^^ 

October Night - . . . aa 



UEnvoi 



45 



THE PATH o' DREAMS 



The Piper 

We danced and sang through the sylvan glade 
As the piper played, as the piper played 

With never a thought of the joy he made; 
For his squeaking pipe was quaintly small 
And the rasping notes would break and fall. 

We thought it quite poor if we thought at all 
As the piper played. 

The shadows were long in the sylvan glade 

As the price we paid, as the price we paid. 
We had little to give, else he might have 
stayed ; 

But others must dance while he must play. 

Yet it seemed so strange he went away, 
For we didn't then know we had lived our day 

And the price was paid. 



13 



Echo 

And Spring withal Is just across the way, — 
Though harsh and shrill the shifts of March 

come blowing, 
The softened pipes of dreamy-sodden May 
Sound once again like forest streams a-flow- 

ing. 

O Songs of Yester-Spring that are no more, 

Hours of Burled Youth, so sweet of yore, 
Down 'neath your grassy graves In endless 

sleep 

1 wonder If you wake, and hear, — and weep. 



14 



At Dusk 

A line of gold, a shade of withered rose 
Amid the gray, — oh, just a little while 
Before the night; as though day could not 

close 
Its eyes in sleep without one last sweet smile. 



^S 



To .... 

Closed In a Vase of Gold, there lie 
Flowers of Lavender; dead and cold 
And void of life as are the walls that hold 
Their dust. Yet in a silent mystery 
They breathe a perfume throughout all 

eternity, 
And ever In a haunting fragrance bless 
A lonely heart with tenderness. 

Ashes of Lavender! And a breath 
Can hold forever sweet a Vase of Life, 
And smother even Death In Love-in-Death. 



i6 



Tears 

So long ago It was, so long ago, — 
And I forgot 'twas but a charge, for, oh ! 
It was so sweet to keep, to know. 

Only forgive — you see love needs must grow 
When heav'n Is near each hour — and It Is so, 
So hard just then to let It go. 



17 



Reverie 

The night has lost her gage within the pool 

And wide-eyed she, 
As pass the hours beside the waters cool, 

Stalks wistfully. 

Blue shadows of gray trees mid golden mist, 

Tower after tower. 
Are caught the while in liquid amethyst 

With one moon flower. 

But she wots not the shadow trees afloat 

Gray gold between. 
Only she notes her flower — a little boat 

Upon the sheen. 

And when the yellow moon grown pale with 
age 

Sinks in the gray, 
She sees — oh, strange I — deep in the pool 
her gage 

Drowned for aye. 



i8 



The Gloaming Hour 

Alone — a wanderer throughout the streets 

of day, 
One who but wished to roam 
Not knowing then; ah, now, only to ask, to 

pray 
For you to take me home. 



'9 



Soul-Slumber 

Where there is the red of roses, 
Where the heather blowing sighs, 
She in lonely sleep reposes 
With the mould-dust in her eyes : 
And she never knows the flowers 
Bloom above her in their bowers, 
And she never knows the hours 
Drag so slowly where she lies. 

Oh, I would that I were lying 
Where the wild June-rose hedge blows, 
Fading as the sun is dying. 
As the day draws to its close; 
For my soul is gone forever. 
Dead with her to answer never, 
And when soul and body sever 
There is death in life, God knows. 



20 



Harvest 

Yellow leaves and autumn wind, 

For summer days have flown, 

And now there is a harvesting 

Of that which once was sown. 

Here men together reap their grain, 

Here men reap theirs alone; 

And many there are who reap the grain 

And bind the golden sheaves, 

And many there are whose arms are full 

Of dead and yellow leaves. 



21 



Constancy 

Still deep in the lane do the red roses blew 

And cover quite tenderly 
Their names that were graven long ages ago 

On the old, old trysting tree. 

And though they are dead with their vows all 
undone, 

False to troth and fealty, 
And though each frail heart 'neath the far 
colder stone 

Now crumbled to dust may be ; 

Still deep in the lane do the red roses blow 

And cover quite tenderly 
Their names that were graven long ages ago 

On the old, old trysting tree. 



22 



My Silent Years 

Like souls they softly slip away; 

The wistful twilight wind 
Is not less still nor sad than they 

That leave but me behind, — 
For all they take and I who stay 

Again may never find. 

Good-bye, good-bye, my silent years ; 

Some day when I am dead. 
Though now I stand so mute with tears, 

Some day I trust instead 
To find that bourne where reappears 

Each hour remembered, — 
To find again my silent years 

Some day when I am dead. 



23 



Traumerei 

There is a place of dreams, Dear, a place of 

dreams 
Where you and I, my head upon your breast, 
Ride toward the South. Far in the yellow 

West 
There is a fading light, while o'er the moonlit 

sky 
The clouds fly from the wind; and you and I 
Just dream together, dreaming thus to rest 
Forever and a day in that far place of dreams. 



24 



Indian Summer 

Soft through the purple of the western hills, 

Through veils of haze, 
Wherefrom this peace, — this rest which in 
me thrills, — 

Spirit of Autumn Days? 

Where are the questionings of summer 

spent, — 
Or arc they with my years, lost memories, 
Spirit of Sweet Content? 

Enough to lie and listen as the day grows old 

To melodies 
From that near choir of voices manifold, — 

Spirits of Gathered Leaves. 



25 



Once 

Ah, who could know 

That you and I were here 

In days so long ago, 

And plighted troth? Why, dear, 

'Twere sweeter, kinder, better not to know. 



26 



The Empty Cup 

To him she gave a goblet red with wine, 
While he but drank and then forgot in fine. 
Saw he how frail the glass was wrought, how 

red 
The fire glowed in the crystal bowl ? Ah, no. 
Enough for him the draught remembered, — 
The cup was empty, let it go. 

Oh, far too exquisite a glass for this, 
Thus cast aside save with a quaffing kiss. 
Yet, after all, what matter? Best or worst 
It serves the same to hold the wine, and so 
'Twill just as well allay a craven's thirst, — 
The cup is empty, let it go. 



27 



A Forest Dream 

To sleep again beneath the shadowed pines, 
Hearing afar and sad the night-wind softly 

sighing 
Amid the boughs, — breathing the dewy air 
Wafted so cool upon my brow where I am 

lying 
At rest, drunk with the perfume of your hair. 
Ah, Spirit of the Pines, I would not care 
Again to wake, if in your arms I might be 

dying ! 



28 



A Song at Sunset 

Clouds of saffron, crimson, golden, 
Thrilling veils of gossamer; 
In the shafts of dusk beholden 
Vanished elfin lands recur. 

And between an arras rending. 
Turquoise-wrought Infinitudes 
Charm the mass of gorgeous blending 
With soft minor Interludes. 

Oh, the wonder transformation ! — 
Roses gold from roses gray 
In an aurate scintillation 
From the leaden clouds of day. 

Fabric of the sun's fair weaving, 
Made of stuff too frail to hold; 
Yet that moment of deceiving 
Bursts with rapture manifold. 

Promised Isles lost In the gloaming, 
Floating on effulgent fire; 
Whither we would rest from roaming,- 
Sunset Land of Heart's Desire. 



So once seen those lights far burning, 
From the Grail within the Garde, 
Guide us upward — ever yearning - 
Changed from savage into bard. 

Clouds of saffron, crimson, golden, 
Thrilling veils of gossamer; 
In the shafts of dusk beholden 
Vanished elfin lands recur. 



30 



Quatrain 

Into this Garden wide, apart and lone 

You came, — nor cast aside the tangled weed. 

Though that was long ago, still from one 

seed 
Rue and Rosemary ever since have grown. 



31 



Life's Paradox 

Wreaths from the censer's brazen grate 

Wandering listlessly 
Against that calm Inviolate, 

Wherefore so trouble ye? 

Or, do ye seek that mystery 

Because, as I, ye must? 
Knowing what was and Is to be 

Are silence, ashes, dust. 



Forgotten 

Out far away In the distant street 
I hear the echo of passing feet — 
Your footsteps, Sweet. 

It seems so strange, yes. It seems so queer 
That you could wander away from here. 
Without me. Dear. 



SS 



Drifts 

Did you ever watch the snow on a hill 

Blowing and blowing yet never still, 

Though the wind is low 

And the wastes below 

Rest like the dead in their icy chill? — 

But the snow on the hill 

Is never still. 

And at night white wraiths in the ghastly 

gleam, 
Forbidden to sleep, lost lives redeem; 
While the wind shrieks shrill 
Round the frozen hill 

As they cry and call in a maddening scream, — 
For the wraiths on the hill 
Are never still. 



34 



Withal 

What if the miles stretch out and bar 

That you and I should meet? why, even still 

You are beneath this very moon and star 

Which I am watching from my lonely hill, 

And I can say low with a happy thrill. 

You are not far, dear heart, you are not far. 



35 



Noel 

Sometimes the world seems harsher when the 
skies are gray, 

And more forlorn; — 
Yet not a flower was blooming on the wintry 
day 

Ere Christ was born. 

So ofttimes the day sinks to its gloomy end, 

Where all seems done. 
The twilight colors paint themselves and glow 
and blend 

After the sun. 



36 



Solitude 



Alone I weave a fancy In the glow, 

While all the world outside Is white with 

snow 
And cheerless. But to me, 
Musing before this fire and drowsily 
Supposing that your head rests on my knee, — 
Seeing the while your great eyes dim-des- 
cried, — 
Heaven could not be fairer than that snowy 
world outside. 



37 



Illusion 

There are so many flow'rs, so many songs, 
So many fair things in this world of ours; 
While I pretend that one to me belongs, 
One song, one flower, from all these songs 
and flowers. 

Although It's blooming for the world I know. 
Although it sings to you as tenderly, 
I think it mine — what if it Isn't so? — 
And that those words are really meant for 
me. 



38 



Legende 

Across the seas, 

Beyond the hill, 

Within a grove, there lies 

Upon the sward 

An elfin thing 

With madness in her eyes, — 

For she is mad with joy because 

The world seems Paradise. 

And in the glades 
Where steal the streams 
Throughout the sunny day, 
She wanders free 
In fantasy 

Along the flowery way. 
And she is never sad, because 
Life is a rondelay. 

Yet just because 

She is so pure, 

And in her soul believes, 

'Twere better not 

To cross the hill 

Or sail the sullen seas. 



39 



Quatrain 

Oh, the waste of vain doubt and regret- 
ting!— 
Shall I seek for the thought that deceives, 
When I find all — the old world forgetting — 
In the whispers of silvery leaves? 



40 



Berceuse 

Across the blue the fleecy clouds waft by, 
Too fair of beauty thus so quickly sped, — 
You do not see, for on my heart you lie, 
You do not see, but know, for you are dead ! 

Sweet, sweet the strain throughout the dark- 
ened air. 
So faint, so far from out the passing day; 
These dying roses crown your tawny hair. 
This fading breeze sings our last roundelay. 

It comes from where the snowy clouds are 

gone, — 
So still I listen to its ladened theme, 
For, though I lose you at the morrow's dawn, 
I still may find our garden of a dream. 

Our garden where no cross-roads meet and 

part, 
Where roses bloom for aye, not withered, — 
You'll lead me through the paths of sleep, 

dear heart, 
There shall I find those clouds where you are 

dead. 



41 



Daph 



ne 



Do you not hear her song 
When rosy showers fall 
And forest whispers call 
Along? 

Do you not hear her feet 
Now faint among the leaves, — 
Or is 't the wind that grieves 
So sweet? 

Do you her face not see 
Mid birches of a glade 
Where sunbeams pass — half maid, 
Half tree? 



42 



Two Chords 

Two ladened chords oft sound within the 

soul: 
One fraught with joy, a great pure major 

theme ; 
The other, fragile as a half remembered 

dream, 
Throbs softly In a strain of minor dole. 
And yet of these, the sweeter far to me 
Is that grave echo of earth's tragedy. 



4^ 



October Night 



The boughs weave a web where the moon 
looks through 
And the casement sways 'gainst the chilly 
moon, — 
Oh, strange that this sky now so cold and blue 
Once was soft with the clouds of a sunny 
June! 



44 



LofC. 



L'Envoi 

Through the mesh of tangled rushes 

In the stream, 
Glints of gold glow ruddy blushes 

Gleam for gleam, 
And the Song of Sundown hushes 

To a dream. 

As the breeze Is faintly falling 

Cool and low. 
As the whip-poor-wills are calling 

To and fro, 
Soft it throbs with pain so palling 

In the glow. 

Silent sobbing song of ending; 

You and I 
Know the night will soon be bending 

O^er the sky, — 
Know the silent words past mending 

Are "good-bye." 



45 



Good-night; 

And may your barque of dreams in twilight 

Float beneath a wooded hill 

Upon a lake of gold, as still 

As death. Good-night, 



47 



